Chapter 39
Kressa pulls open her bedroom door, and I cross over the threshold into the main living quarters.
“I’ll walk you to your door,” she says, her voice echoing off the walls.
I chew on the inside of my cheek. “I’m pretty sure I can get there myself.”
“Well, I have to lock you in.”
The bluntness to her tone chills the air in my lungs.
Every ounce of warmth and love that exchanged between us moments ago is gone, replaced with a sweeping shame.
She agreed to marry to spare my life, but it doesn’t change the fact that she stole my compass before she knew who I was.
And now that she does, she hasn’t returned it.
I grind my teeth together as I step across the cold floor. It all makes sense now. She was disappointed I wouldn’t face the wyvern, so in an attempt to soften me for her molding, she brought me to bed. Tried to win my alliance with her body.
“I can feel your anger,” she whispers, trailing behind me.
Burrowing into my mind, I reinforce the door leading to our bond. It does little to staunch the exchange of emotions, but it’s enough to dull it.
“Stay out of my head,” I bite.
“Then put the gloves back on.”
A lump forms in my throat, and I halt, turning on my heel. She holds the gloves out, her face expressionless as I snatch them from her hands.
“That was a mistake,” I hiss, shoving my fingers through the gloves.
Her face falls, and a wave of cold hurt flows through the bond. But I pull the gloves on tight, and the rhodium snuffs it out before it has a chance to crest over me.
Kressa clears her throat and steps around me, wrenching my door open. “Yes, I think you’re right.”
The prison of a room yawns open, and I step through the opening.
Before I have a chance to turn, she slams the door and shoves the key into the lock.
The bolt clicks, and my resolve crumples.
It’s like second nature, wanting to slam my fists against the door and beg for us to fix this—to mend whatever rift has formed and go back to the way we were before she found out who I was.
But I have possession of her emerald, and she has the only thing that can guide me home. I don’t trust her, and she doesn’t trust me.
And after what I’ve done—the correspondence with Isolde that she knows nothing about—I can’t blame her.
A door opens in the living room, then slams shut. Silence follows, and I count the seconds that tick by. There could be a list of people Kressa is leaving to meet up with. Elias, Julian, her father.
Nicole.
Digging my hand into my pocket, I pull out the emerald and unfold the rhodium enough to catch a glimpse of the polished stone. It glimmers in the low light—slightly thrumming as if it has a pulse of its own.
I replace the fabric and stride toward the bed. The covers are pulled back, as if Gemma tumbled out of bed this morning once she heard us arrive. I suck in a cheek, and the ache in my chest widens at the thought of her stuck in here this entire time, with nothing but her own thoughts as company.
If it weren’t for her and her sister, I never would have entered The Gales. Without them, I would still be trapped in Sarenia—bound to the curse. I owe Gemma my life.
A tap comes from the window, and my heart leaps into my throat. I shove the emerald beneath the mattress and stride to the window, parting the curtains a sliver.
The courier falcon stars at me with its beady eyes. It cocks its head, snapping its beak against the glass. A leather strap attaches a scroll to its ankle, and I open the window enough to slide my hand out.
I untie the strap and wrap my fingers around the parchment—holding tight as the bird leaps from the windowsill. It fans out its wings, and instead of taking its usual place at the eave, it disappears into the night.
Stepping back, I let the curtain fall shut as I unroll the letter.
B,
If my falcon returns empty-handed, I will assume you’re still alive.
I’ll find a way in.
My pulse thrashes in my ears, and I struggle to take in a full breath as I roll up the scroll and shove it beneath the mattress.
It’s at least a handful of days before she said she’d be here, but maybe the fire in Sarenia gave her a chance to sneak away. Or she convinced Callum to allow her to bring a fleet here.
A breeze floats through the gap in the window, rustling the curtains, and I swallow. I’ve been waiting for this moment since her first letter showed up. But I never considered what will happen when she comes.
Who might get hurt.
My crew floats through my mind. I haven’t even had a chance to see them since I returned—too busy being whisked to Amoren. There’s no telling the state Inez is in after her mental torture, or whether Thea, Celia, and Elayne made it back safely.
I don’t know if any of them are sick, starved, or dying.
My heart twists.
Whatever Isolde decides to do, it’s what has to be done. Kressa can tell her father whatever he wants to hear to spare me, but that doesn’t mean my crew will have the same leniency. And as long as it’s a Sopor that gets people in and out of Amoren, they’ll be safe. They can’t be reached.
Blowing out a breath, I pull off my clothes, letting them fall to the floor at me feet. I study the pants and gnaw on the inside of my cheek, hating that as I stare at the band at the waist, all I can think of is the way Kressa pulled them off me.
I tear my gaze away and pull a long cotton shirt out of the dresser, throwing it over my head.
The curtains rustle, and I study the window. As clear as Isolde’s message was, there’s no telling when she’ll arrive, or how far the falcon must travel.
I trudge to the bed and throw myself under the covers. And yet, even as my body sinks into the mattress and I pull the sheets to my chin, there’s only so much comfort I can find.
I’d rather be in the hammock on a ship.